


With You, I'm Home

by Bumblumble



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Clover being super forward with Qrow, Fairgame, Fluff eventually guys, It's all good though Qrow is totally oblivious, M/M, Marrow being the goodest boy, Qrow being an awkward idiot, Slow Burn, bandit!Qrow, he can't help it Qrow is too dang cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:34:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumblumble/pseuds/Bumblumble
Summary: 'Home' is not a word Qrow is well acquainted with. Family leaves and friends follow close behind; Nothing is permanent - nothing but Raven.But this kind-eyed stranger seems to offer everything he's tried to forget he's wanted, and deciding where 'home' lies doesn't seem so easy anymore.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Marrow Amin, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 27
Kudos: 148





	1. The Faunus Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've been enjoying Volume 7 so much, and absolutely can't get enough of Fairgame,, I honestly get so many butterflies when I think about those two bois I had to release all those feelings somehow! Gonna be pretty slow and maybe a bit angsty at the beginning but once the set up is done and Qrow/Clover is properly in swing it'll get a bit more light-hearted because God knows we need more Qrow/Clover fluff.
> 
> Also I think I've become one of those annoying people that put too many long tags on their fic I'm so sorry I couldn't help it.
> 
> This was inspired by Bosiphas' Maybe With Him, which is an ingenious idea for an AU honestly why isn't there more bandit!Qrow fics going around?? Please go check it out!

_"Don't blame your self"_  
  
_Darkness clawed its way through falling snow and suffocated him, white ash pooling in that stark red around her. Her hand spasmed in his but held strong. She always was the strong one._  
  
_"It's not your fault"_  
  
_Red dragged behind him and guided his outstretched hand; Those hands - they can't touch him - **don't** -_  
  
_'Don't blame yourself'_  
  
_Red. Red, and cold. He felt just as lifeless._  
  
_'Don't blame yourself'_  
  
_But he did._  


* * *

  
Qrow often dreaded Raven's return. Sitting, as he did in those early mornings, behind the main body of tents, and absorbing the shade and silence of the sleeping camp, things seemed almost frozen without the spirit of their leader. He existed in stasis, then: Allowed to look up at the sky and forget for a little while; To pretend there was no camp, no tribe, just him and that blue expanse; A tiny, remote existence, and there, finally, he could be content.  
  
There was also the fact that Qrow was often pissed at Raven by the time she got back. She had a penchant for lobbing her enemies' weapons - and sometimes, if she was feeling especially lazy or in a bad mood, full Grimm - through her portals to get rid of them and tip the fight in her favour. Unfortunately for him, that often meant being unexpectedly whacked by said flying weapons. Today, for example, he had been rudely awakened from his nap as a massive boomerang hit him smack dab in the stomach; He was sure he heard someone shout 'fetch!' before the portal closed, which he thought was particularly demeaning, and brooded over it for a good half hour afterwards.  
  
It wasn't that he didn't like having her there at the camp; If anything he was glad he had _someone_ to talk to, though she was usually too busy for frivolous chat (and not the kind to engage in it in her free time anyway), and he was often too deep into nursing a flask to be put down by it. No, what he really dreaded seeing was that mask of hers, Grimm in more ways than one. That was the face of a leader, cold and calculated and far removed from the face of his sister. He often thought of her as two different people: Raven with the mask, and Raven without, and in that way it was easy to distinguish the person who condemned his soft way of thinking and forced him to do things he didn't want to with the person who sat with him on lonely nights, when he felt like going one bottle too far, not saying anything and knowing she didn't have to. At times the lines between them blurred, but he made resolutely sure not to get the two confused, for his mental state if nothing else.  
  
He loved Raven, (his Raven, the one that didn't hide) but on more than one occasion had questioned whether they were truly blood-related: How could two people, made from the same mould, be so fundamentally different? The usual conclusion would come to him then, that he was simply weak-willed. _'That's why I run this Tribe,'_ Raven had said to him on one of those quiet nights when he'd knocked back enough to criticise her unabashedly, _'I make the hard decisions for our benefit, it's their blood or ours. You'd do well to remember that Qrow.'_  
  
That instilled logic rung clear and battled with his conscious; In the end, though, he was just a fly on the wall, worse than the bandits if only through his indecision. Maybe, he thought, he should just suck it up and go with the flow - follow the rest of the tribe like some damn sheep. It sure would be easier, but at the same time, he knew he could never forgive himself. He was selfish, sitting here on his high horse, talking about morals and integrity when he knew exactly what his tribe did; And yet he ate the meals, wore the clothes, that other's held a guilty conscious for. He hated thoughts like these, but couldn't help dredging them up on mornings like these from where he'd last buried them, determined to find some answer but never doing so.  
  
That was how he'd started his day, looking at the clouds and inwards until the morning turned to afternoon and the sun was too glaringly bright to continue laying exposed. From his corner seat under the shade of a tree, overgrown past the wooden wall, he could see the gates opening, and through the widening gap the grisly mask of his sister. Members of the Tribe emerged from their tents in congratulation, and Qrow turned to take a long swig from his pocket-flask as the calm of the afternoon ebbed away. 'The Raiders' was a black hole for big heads and largemouths, and while there was something melancholy about the silence left in their wake, he would take that over this headache any day.  
  
Jeering from the crowd piqued his interest; Squinting against the glare of the sun, he could see a strangely dressed figure being pushed around in the crowd. Qrow frowned: had they taken someone hostage? Why would they bother to do that? Uneasy, he stood and began moving toward the commotion.  
  
"You lot think you're so much better than us"  
  
"Kingdom in the sky"  
  
"How does it feel to fall this far"  
  
"Dog's lost his master"  
  
Shouts and cruel laughter grew in a great wall around the man - a dog Faunus it seemed; By the look of that pristine, white uniform, he must've been Atlas Military, and an important one too. Qrow could see, with the man's hands restrained uncomfortably behind his back, that he was struggling to keep his balance against the hands that shoved him, and though he sneered, shrunk in on himself.  
  
That white mask rose above the crowd and strode toward the man (who was closer to being a boy if Qrow was honest), and the group parted to let their leader through.  
  
"It seems we've caught a stray Atlesian soldier trespassing on our land." Raven's voice was loud and smooth, perfected to revere and intimidate in equal parts,  
"What's a sniffer dog doing all the way out here?"  
  
The boy's tail twitched uncomfortably as the slits of her mask bore into him, but he glared back just as fiercely.  
  
"Hm. Well, you'll tell me one way or another, but that can wait until tomorrow,"  
Removing her mask, she turned to her subjects,  
  
"Start unloading the sacks into the storage rooms, and clean the weapons! I don't want to see any blunt ends or faulty guns. Tonight we celebrate."  
  
As the crowd dispersed and got to work, Raven addressed two brawny men from her personal guard and nodded to the cages kept along the edge of the fence for livestock,  
  
"Lock him in an empty crate. Don't feed him."  
  
The boy resisted his captors, though only for dignity's sake: Qrow could tell by the scraps and bruises that his aura had already depleted - there would be little he could do, even against those wet-wipes. He cringed at the non-too gentle kick to the boys left leg, and frowned as he allowed himself to be dragged into a cage.  
  
It was cruel, though unfortunately not beneath Raven's standards; She didn't go out of her way to discriminate Faunus (at least not more than she did anyone outside of the Tribe), but that didn't mean she wasn't above using that insecurity to demoralise people. Still, looking at the boy - who might give Qrow an aneurysm for how easily he wore his heart on his sleeve - trapped in that cage made for wild animals seemed too callous. By the way the boys tail looked to be trampled on, he was reminded not everyone at the camp shared those views.  
  
Turning to the left, he caught the flap of the main tent's door as Raven stepped inside. For a moment he contemplated going in, but her mask hadn't fully fallen away yet (it rarely ever did until night had firmly settled and the camp was asleep). Besides, he was still annoyed at her, and so turned back to his solitary corner, putting thoughts of her and that boy away. There was nothing he could do for him anyway.  
  
Strangely he didn't feel like drinking, so opted instead to sleep the afternoon away. However it was fitful, constantly interrupted by people laughing or kicking at the small boy, and honestly couldn't they see he was trying to sleep? He huffed in annoyance as they taunted the kid with horror stories of Raven's past victims, and chucked rocks at them so that they'd _shut the hell up and give him some damn peace for God's sake._  
  
He closed his eyes again and rolled to face the wall, trying to fall asleep. Lying there, he thought of nothing in particular, at least nothing that didn't dissipate into irrelevance, or mutate into something he quickly steered clear of, but their words stirred the black thing inside him. He didn't like looking at the darker side of Raven's dealings; He stayed away from raids, and never asked Raven about the logistics of maintaining a loyal Tribe (no one questioned why people sometimes disappeared after food rations went missing, or how whispers that Raven shouldn't be their leader never lasted past a day), except when he was too drunk to feel that fear, but it was easier to distance himself from what he heard in those moments. He pushed it down, moved an arm under his head, then moved it back down to his stomach, tossed the other way and felt the sunlight prying his eyelids open. The thought wouldn't leave. There was no way she would let Atlas military off easily. Not now that he knew where their base was, and especially not a Faunus who might be able to follow their scent.  
  
His eyes cracked open against his will and he felt the urge to curse himself for his restlessness, but jumped up anyway and picked up Harbinger, who had been lying an arm's length away and was probably annoyed at Qrow for disturbing it. He sent a look as to apologise to his weapon, and then felt a bit daft for doing so - he wondered how weird it made him (and how sad) that he thought of his weapon as a companion, but put that thought away with the others as he sheathed the sword behind him and strode towards the main gates. From his usual spot behind the main bulk of living quarters, he could easily walk around the edge of the camp between the tents and the wall, away from the general bustle. Though it would mean walking straight past that Faunus boy.  
  
He walked, a little too stiffly to be aloof, into the main area, between rows of tents that formed the high Street of the camp. Entrance flaps were rolled up and stools were out as people sharpened tools and chatted amongst themselves. He ignored the subtle looks as the woman to his left cut herself on her blade, and somewhere behind him the leg of a stool broke so that he heard the thump of someone falling on their ass, and instead looked up at the high wall, still visible above the tents - visible from pretty much anywhere in the camp.  
  
Qrow thought about transforming into a bird then and there to save himself some trouble, but found he couldn't be bothered as contradictory as that was. He almost passed the boy like that, looking up in thought, when he suddenly felt a new set of eyes on him and turned to meet them without thinking - it was almost cliché, the way time seemed to slow as they looked at each other, and the distance between them seemed to shrink and evaporate. The Faunus was definitely a boy, maybe early twenties but with a demeanour that betrayed something more innocent. His tail had wrapped around his torso, and amidst the mop of green hair, he almost expected to see drooping ears to accompany it.  
  
Qrow hurried on, ignoring his tingling neck-hairs and the faintly disapproving faces of the guards stationed at the gate. He'd seen something in those eyes that resonated uncomfortably close.  
  
He followed the knife markings on the trees he'd made some 5 months ago when he'd first explored their new campsite. It had been November then, and even without the marks to find his way back, the trees were bare, and you could see a good deal of distance in any direction. Now you could barely see 3 feet in front of you without running into brambles, or if you were unlucky as he often was, nettles, and after a few paces into the thicket the camp wall was out of sight. He kept down the well-memorised path: through the gap in a wild berry bush, past the runt of a tree, with more yellowish leaves than its neighbours, and then down the mud slope towards the sound of rushing water.  
  
At the bottom, breaking past the line of trees, was his little place of solace. He sat on the grassy bank: a semicircle just big enough for him to lean back on his hands with his legs spread out before him, and looked at the flowing river. Even under the canopy of trees, he could feel the heat beating down on him, and thought of jumping into the cool water, but it was moving quick enough to send him flat on his back and then promptly down the river after that, which wasn't an idea he was exactly keen on.  
  
His gaze followed the flow of the stream to a log - the remains of a tree that had been uprooted in a storm a few months back - straining against the water but stuck in place against two big rocks so that it formed a make-shift bridge to the other side. It was close to his foot, and he nudged the thick roots thoughtfully. He had thought about crossing many times, for no real reason other than seeing something new for once, but felt something stop him each time he stepped up to the log. He knew, if he did cross and kept walking, he would eventually reach the Sea - it'd been a while since he'd seen it, as the coast was such a highly populated part of Anima they would never travel close - and past the Sea, Atlas.  
  
Even on all the missions he had gone on as a Beacon student, he had never been to the Kingdom in the sky; The closest he had gotten was the outskirts of Mantle, and all he could do was look up at that shining city. He felt a bit embarrassed, but he had always idolised it - a civilisation rising above all the darkness and filth down here, into endless uncharted territory. He had heard of the harsher sides of Atlas, like the unsavoury treatment towards the poor and the Faunus, and even from his brief encounters with Ironwood back in his school days he hadn't particularly liked the militaristic man, but Qrow's perfect image persevered. It was freedom and hope, and he had felt it as he had stood in that snow Tundra, looking at the speck of light in the distance.  
  
That Faunus boy was from Atlas - he huffed, frustrated at the thought and dragged a hand down his face: His thoughts kept coming back to that kid. Why? Was he really so hung up on one boy? Of course, he wasn't used to seeing people from outside of the camp; He had only really seen Grimm killed and he wasn't about to get upset over that, but a person? Maybe that was why Qrow kept entertaining the idea of helping the boy escape; Looking at Raven's tent as he broke the boy out of the cage and not caring that he was betraying his sister; Helping him across that log in the dead of night towards his Northern star; Crossing that log himself and leaving with the boy. It was irrational. Irrational and stupid: He knew he wasn't a good person - not as bad as many people in the tribe, but certainly not _good_. He knew to pretend that he was better, that he had morals against murder and theft, was pointless if not to justify his own complacency. He was no better than Raven, who excused the blood on her hands by blaming the Grimm she led to those towns. Even his semblance, a reflection of his soul, showed what a crappy person he was, and Qrow had accepted that, so why was he reacting this way?  
  
Maybe it was the fact that the boy was from Atlas; Maybe it was the fact he'd seen the crusted blood on Raven's boots as she'd strode through the crowd that morning. Or maybe it was the look in the boy's eyes, amidst the pain and fear and vulnerability: A look of anger, of fierce determination - a look of survival that had Qrow's heart racing before he could even think of getting away. If the boy had been quietly accepting of his fate, Qrow might've been able to forget about him - Leave his guilt and accept his role alongside the kid. But that discrete fire burnt fiercely, igniting something rebellious in Qrow, and a surge of courage passed through him, indignant and blinding. For once in his life he could at least try and redeem his pointless existence: He wouldn't let that boy die there among the filth and the scum - and couldn't help but feel as if by helping him, by doing just this one small thing, he might revive a bit of the hope he'd long since buried and feel it alive, burning out there with the boy in a world brighter than his. It was all he had left to give, and it would be worthless used on himself, but maybe, if he could give it to that boy, when his time finally came he could look back on this moment and have one less regret.  
  
Qrow looked up at the slim strip of sky, visible through the block of trees on either side of the river, and allowed himself to dream of vivid light and optimism, staying like that until the sun had set low beyond the black outline of treetops.

* * *

  
Marrow was fine. Honestly, he was. I mean sure he had freaked out a little bit earlier, but now he was totally A-Okay. If anything he was annoyed at all of these uncivilised people kicking at the cage they'd put him in - which they were going to pay for when he got out! He watched warily as people walked past him carrying spears and swords to what he assumed was a storage tent to the right of him, out of sight, and scowled when they looked his way. They had no idea who they were messing with. Even if, and it was a big if, he somehow didn't manage to escape on his own, once his teammates found him they'd all be in big trouble. He could imagine Elm's furious face, battering his two guards' heads together, or Clover, who was secretly very protective of his team, effortlessly beating down that lady with the creepy mask using only his fishing rod (which he never ceased to find funny).  
  
He waited for the people to pass before he checked his ankle, which had twisted when he'd been pushed to the ground earlier. Annoyingly, it still smarted as he put some of his weight on it, and he pulled his leg closer to himself away from the bars - his tail, too, was sore from where someone had dug their heel into it, and heat rose to his face while something thick lodged in his throat. He was fine, totally fine. Already he could feel his aura growing in strength, and didn't feel as much pain from the kick to the stomach he'd received; Soon all these wounds would heal, and the heavy feeling in his chest would go away.  
  
Movement caught his eye; He watched as the large gates opened and the strange guy from earlier stepped in. Immediately he felt a release of pressure as the eyes that had been on him turned to the scruffy man, and again his interest was piqued. He was quite out of place with the rest of them, lanky and wearing a grey vest coat with no armour, as opposed to the big built men in shoulder guards he had seen walking around all day. His face was sharp, but not hard like the rest of the bandits he had seen, and he didn't look to hang around with anyone there. The way people zeroed in on him made him stand out, and Marrow wondered if maybe he was the most ruthless man of the lot, enough to scare his own tribe members (because that's what those looks were, though muted- they feared him) but he couldn't say that felt right. That moment when their eyes had locked resurfaced in his mind: He had seen a lot of emotions there, and though they were hard to make out, as far away as they had been from each other, none had been malicious.  
  
Marrow saw the man glance his way before disappearing deeper into the camp; Out of sight, the man's immobilising presence faded and his guards renewed their conversation.  
"Did you see that? He was out all day again."  
"What did you expect? It's Qrow."  
At this point, Marrow was most definitely eavesdropping on their conversation - not because he was interested in what they were saying, they were just close by and being obnoxiously loud.  
"There's only so much he should be able to get away with. We work our asses off, and at the end of the day _he's_ the one with the whisky while we're stuck drinking warm beer."  
"The beer's not that bad Shay."  
"That's not the point and you know it! If he wasn't Raven's brother-"  
"Qrow is one of the best fighters here, trained alongside our leader. Before, they might've even been equally matched. He's needed at the camp. As long as he stays nearby, what's the harm in him going outside?"  
Clearly the older man had some authority over 'Shay' as he promptly dropped the subject after that, though neither looked very satisfied with the answer, and neither, frankly, was Marrow.  
  
He was curious - _very_ curious - about the man. Partly because he was bored and had nothing else to think about (well, thinking about how to escape might be good, but he'd settled on a pretty good game plan already. Step 1: wait until his semblance came back. Step 2: Kick some butt - and had decided that was probably sound enough), but partly because he was certain he had seen that face somewhere before. He'd thought about it throughout the day since he'd first seen the guy, trying to place those features to a name - perhaps on one of his mission lists? Maybe people really _were_ afraid of him for his ruthlessness, and he was an on-the-loose mass murderer, who was hiding here because he was related to their leader and terrorising the place into giving him all their booze. He waved the notion away, obviously ridiculous (and not because he might start to actually believe it if he kept thing about it), and instead went back to cursing his captors. The second guard swap of the day came as the others went off to have their food. Looking up through the ceiling bars, about an inch or 2 above his head and he was thankful for the fact he didn't have to bend or his neck would've been permanently crooked, he could see the red glow setting, and dark blue coming in its place: It must've been about 7.  
  
Marrow didn't need his enhanced hearing to notice the cheering from the central area of the camp. Light trickled out from the left behind the row of tents blocking his vision, and the long flickering shadows suggested there was a massive bonfire in the middle. He could smell roasting chicken and thought he had much more of a right to grumble than his guards, who were evidently annoyed they were missing out. His stomach certainly had no qualms announcing its aggravation.  
  
His eyes flittered around again, but no one was near. Everyone must've been at the bonfire. Marrow let out a yawn that felt like it had been building for the whole day and suddenly felt bone-tired (he'd have to save that one for Harriet, she'd be sure to hate it). He hadn't slept at all, which had probably been a bad idea considering he wanted his aura to be replenished before morning, but those irritating bandits had been on his case all day, trying to scare him. Marrow wasn't afraid, he could take the lot of them, they had just gotten lucky and caught him off guard was all. He could admit that the Mask Lady was strong, maybe even as strong as he was - The way she used those portals was formidable too, zipping about the place too fast for him to freeze. That was how he'd lost Fetch: He'd been trying to hit the elusive woman when she'd suddenly stopped. Honestly, he cringed thinking back on his naivety - no one was ever that easy a target - but, thinking there was an opportunity, he'd thrown his weapon at her, expecting a satisfying smackdown. Instead, the air itself seemed to rip open, red tendrils swirled and latched on devouring poor Fetch before it ever reached its mark. Marrow had called out to his lost weapon and was sure he'd heard an 'oof' before the portal fully closed, but he didn't have much time after that to dwell on it before his aura had broken and he was being pressed on the ground with his hands tied behind his back.  
  
He hoped he found Fetch once he escaped. Of course, he knew they had great blacksmiths in Atlas, and Fetch could be made again, but it wouldn't be his Fetch. The thought that he would probably never see his weapon again felt crushing, and he was more angry at himself for his own stupidity, which had been the cause of this whole predicament in the first place, but resolved not to think about it and rest while he could. With any luck, he'd be ready to go while it was still in the early hours. Then he could at least move in the darkness, where he would have the advantage.

* * *

  
Marrow was awakened by a creaking around, and his eyes snapped open as he felt movement close by. The sky was still dark, though felt darker without the light of the bonfire - everyone must've gone to bed already. The door to his cage was open, and a hand had been reaching toward him but hesitated once his eyes had locked onto it. Following the attached arm, his eyes met red. That man (Qrow? That's what those guards had called him.) was there, faint surprise on his face, but overall impassive. The man was a Medusa: Something about him held Marrow's gaze and froze him, though not of fear - in fact, he didn't sense any danger from the person in front of him at all. Maybe that was why he hadn't bolted the minute he realised the door was unlocked. Marrow broke eye contact cautiously, unwilling to let his guard down, but couldn't see any guards about. He couldn't see anyone for that matter.

"They're gone if that's what you're looking for. I told them I was taking over their shift."

Hackles up from the sudden noise, his eyes darted back to the man, who was standing up now, backing up slightly, and if he wasn't so on edge Marrow might've found the gravelly tones soothing. As it was he stayed rooted, staring at this stranger, who stared back just as readily. Finally, Qrow looked away, casually putting his hands in his pockets. "Well, are you coming or not?"

It took a second for the comment to process, and his confusion must've been obvious as the man's face turned exasperated, "You didn't think I opened your cage for nothing did you? Get off your ass and get moving. We don't have all day."  
  
Without another word he began walking, which was probably for the best as Marrow didn't think he would've moved if not for the sudden urgency he felt seeing the retreating back of his liberator. He jogged over as best he could with his still-painful ankle, careful to match the man's silent footsteps, and watched as the gate was opened just enough for them to slip through.

"You first." The man said looking over. He zeroed in on his tied hands. "Ah, forgot about that, sorry. Turn around for a second."  
He did, and felt his bonds fall away; Blood started flowing to them again, which felt unpleasantly cold and he knew he'd be dealing with a monstrous case of pins and needles soon, but he was just being ungrateful now. Marrow eyed the man in thanks but said no more as he shuffled through the gap, and immediately felt bad about how prideful he was - but looking over Qrow didn't seem to mind, slipping through and carefully closing the gate behind him. Retaking the lead, he motioned for Marrow to follow.  
  
They trekked through the woods seemingly randomly, but the man walked with purpose and Marrow wasn't about to question him. To be honest, Marrow still wasn't completely sure he wasn't being duped for the hell of it. It wouldn't be the first time he had trusted someone only to have it thrown back in his face, and those bandits seemed the kind to mess with people for a laugh, but for some reason he felt like that wasn't the case - that he could trust this stranger. In any case, he wasn't in a position to doubt his saviour; He should be ready to run lest it turned out his confidence was misplaced.  
  
They slowed, reaching a mud slope, and the man lowered his shoulder, turning to address him.

"Here, your ankle hurts right? Lean on me, we've got to go down there."

Now, away from immediate danger, he could really look at the man: He had a lean frame as he'd noticed before, but was taller up close so that he had to bend a good inch for Marrow to sling an arm around his shoulders. His hair was dishevelled but slicked back, like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to seem presentable or not, and the 5 o'clock shadow hung as heavy as the bags under his eyes. In short, he looked knackered, but he supposed conventionally attractive. His eyes certainly stood out against the rest of his dull face. Those were red and lively, and very alert to the fact that he was staring if the way he kept shifting them was anything to go by.

"Come on."

He tugged, impatient but gentle, and they made their way down to a fast-flowing river that he vaguely remembered being carried over, though he didn't recognise the clearing they were standing in.  
  
The man led him over to a log that formed a bridge between the two sides of the river and helped him up onto it first. He hesitated before joining Marrow, which was a nerve-wracking moment (he totally wasn't scared!!) as he struggled to find balance without a hold on anything, and his weight already shifted to his good leg, but Qrow quickly hopped up and helped him shuffle to the other side. Once on solid ground, Marrow waited to follow Qrow's lead, but he made no sign of moving further.

"Atlas is that way," he pointed forwards into the woods, directly opposite the direction they'd come from. "Far that way, but I'm sure if you keep walking you'll find someone who can help you. Oh -"

He seemed to suddenly remember something and reached behind his back. Marrow tensed ready for a sudden attack, but any lingering fear was instantly forgotten. His eyes widened and felt his tail wag without his consent, but he was too focused on the weapon in Qrow's hands to be embarrassed about it.

"I almost forgot, I think this is yours? Packs a punch I'll tell you that.." The last bit was mumbled, probably talking to himself more than Marrow but he didn't care. His eyes started to water, tears becoming a real threat, and he was surprised by the visceral reaction to a _weapon_ of all things, but the relief he felt as he was handed Fetch was overwhelming. He had been given Fetch as a gift for making it into the Ace-Ops - designed it himself in the academy - and it was so much more than just a tool to him. It was proof that he deserved to be there, alongside his teammates - that he wasn't useless or a fluke. He was finally starting to believe what his teammates were saying before he'd gone and gotten captured, and losing his weapon was the last nail in the coffin of his building confidence. In one fell swoop, he'd failed the Ace-Op name's principle. How could he face them all after such humiliation? Getting Fetch back, it felt like a sign - that maybe it was okay. Everyone made mistakes right? He knew he'd never be so stupid as to try and do things on his own again. He looked back to the kind man and couldn't believe he was a bandit like the rest of his Tribe - no wonder he didn't fit in with the rest of them, though it didn't explain why they seemed so guarded around him. 

Any doubt that this man - _Qrow_ (he was sure he recognised that name) - was the best person to have ever lived was quickly demolished as he brought out a small box that smelt of the chicken from earlier, making Marrow's stomach growl, "Here's what I could keep from the barbecue. Sorry I couldn't get much."

Screw pride, he would kiss this man's feet.  
  
His gratitude must've been visible on his face, and maybe Qrow had sensed Marrow was about to do something embarrassing as he suddenly looked uncomfortable and turned to leave.  
"Good luck. Try not to get kidnapped again okay?"

"Wait--!"

But Qrow was already gone, leaping across the river and disappearing into the trees. He hadn't even gotten to give his thanks - he never thanked anyone! Marrow pouted in the direction Qrow had left in - he needed to let out this gratitude _somehow_! He huffed, resolving to be a bit nicer to his team once he was back in Atlas. Well, for the first week at least, he wasn't Gandhi. But to do that he had to find his teammates first. Marrow walked as briskly as his foot allowed in the direction he'd been pointed. He was certain they were all worried sick about him - he was the favourite of the group, after all, they must've been falling apart without him.  
  
It was about 3 hours later when he heard Elm's voice. He was pretty tired at this point but didn't hesitate to call back.

"Marrow!"

One second he was walking towards the sound of his teammate, the next he was on the floor, glomped by a massive figure, and if he didn't know Elm as well as he did he would've thought he was being attacked.

"We've been looking for you all day! Guys, I found him! Head back to base and we'll meet you there." She clicked off her earpiece and continued to suffocate a begrudging Marrow, who's tail batted against the bigger woman happily.

"I think you mean _we_ found him, Elm."

"Oh, hush! You always get the credit for these things." Clover emerged from the foliage and gave Marrow a warm smile over Elm's shoulder.  
  
She pulled away from him finally and gave him a once over, eyes narrowing as she lingered on his tail before beaming at him.

"Oh, you're hurt. Don't worry, I'll carry you back, we'll be with the others in no time!"

"Wait, you don't need to-"

"Heave Ho!"

He let out a ( _dignified_ ) yelp as Elm swiped him off the floor, bounding back in the direction she had arrived while Clover followed after them. Marrow complained loudly about her unnecessary tricks, wall jumping up trees and flipping off of their branches, but secretly enjoyed the thrill and the sound of her laugh.  
  
Soon they had reached a large clearing: The dropship they had arrived on about a week ago stood at the centre, and next to it was Harriet and Vine, who'd hurried over once they'd noticed the newcomers. Elm had just set him on his feet when Harriet flashed over.

"Marrow, you're not dead!"

"Of course not, who do you think you're talking to."

"I know exactly who I'm talking to, that's why it's so surprising." Before they got into a full-on brawl (Fewer words had led to a fight between them before), Vine cut in as diplomatic as ever,

"What she means to say is that we're glad you are safe. We were quite worried about you."

Guilt bloomed in his chest and he looked away from the group, "Sorry guys."

Clover stepped forward, and all eyes turned to their leader.

"You shouldn't have run off like that without reporting back to us. I understand that sometimes opportunities arise and there's no time to wait for reinforcements, but at the very least you have to alert us. Something much worse could've happened, and there would have only been the four of us standing here, wondering what to do next." The group was sombre, and Marrow couldn't help the droop of his tail as reality set in. He had been really stupid. Clover let them stir in that severity before he sighed, letting go of those feelings, and laid a hand on Marrow's shoulder, giving him a soft smile.

"But that's neither here nor there now. We're glad to have you back." Seeing their Captain in better spirits, the solemn mood lifted and the usual ribs and jibes followed. He was unspeakably grateful to all of them, though he'd never say it aloud even if he could put it into words. Until now, it hadn't sunk in just how close he'd come to the unthinkable. How lucky he'd been.

"So... Not to dampen the mood or anything, but what actually happened to you?"

All eyes turned to him, and he sheepishly recounted how he'd stumbled across a group of bandits that matched the description they were looking for but had been spotted by their leader before he could tail them back to their camp. He recalled the way she'd been a very skilled fighter compared to the rest of them, and how she'd captured him almost embarrassingly easily (although he played down that last part a bit, they got the idea anyway). It was as he was telling them about the man who'd helped him escape that the pieces finally clicked.

"Oh my God, I know who he is."

"Who, the man who helped you?" Clover asked, eyebrow raised though he looked intrigued.

"Yeah, I'm sure it was him. Which would mean their leader is -" He broke off, pulling on his lower lip as he went over his memories to make sure he wasn't going crazy. They'd been missing for years, the General had given up looking for them a while back: He remembered being tasked with finding them for a short time before Professor Ozpin had convinced the General to drop the search. And yet all the pieces fit. Where they'd gone all these years, why people seemed afraid of Qrow, why that woman was so powerful - it all made sense.  
Harriet stared at him, impatient.

"Well? Who was he then?!"

Marrow looked around the group, settling on Clover, resolved. He was certain it was him.

"The man that helped me was Qrow Branwen."


	2. Easy On The Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for all the lovely comments, they really motivated me to write! I showed them to all of my friends because I was too emotional to deal with it on my own,, It's 5 am in England right now, but I was determined to finish this chapter tonight!! I've checked over it many many times but I am also sleep deprived and delirious so who knows what's slipped through the cracks, my spellings abysmal on the best of days. We're adding a spice (a mild spice) of actual Fairgame into this chapter. Woo! hopefully it'll start heating up when they actually meet next chapter.

God that was awkward.

Thoughts of the past hour or so forced their way to the surface of his mind as he flew towards the camp, and he couldn't help cringing at just how socially inept he was. Clearly, his lack of human interaction had taken more of a toll on him than he'd thought, though Qrow didn't know why he expected any different. He had always been the odd one of the group: It would take Tai's brashness and Summer's enthusiastic encouragement (a few shots never hurt either) before he'd open up and start having a bit of fun. Even then Raven hadn't bothered with going out or chatting - not that she lacked people-skills like him, she just didn't see the point. Now with only Raven around, it was no wonder he had been as stiff as he had. 

The first thing he'd done was frightened the boy: he'd opened the cage and reached in, not even thinking about the fact the kid had been caged by violent criminals and was probably terrified - well, maybe not _terrified_ : he was an Atlas operative after all, despite how young he was, but scared at least - and the panic he'd seen in those half-glazed eyes made him freeze. He'd watched the boy look around a little delirious and took the time to school his face, trying to take a suave stance - aloof, unbothered by how badly it was going. God, he'd even put his hands in his pockets as of he hadn't a care in the world; Of course he did! He was breaking out a hostage under the nose of his own sister, who was he trying to fool!? Though he hadn't been faking his annoyance when the boy didn't move, instead opting to stare at him in dumb confoundment - probably because he couldn't believe how totally uncool he was. Qrow was doing his best here! The boy could've at least _tried_ to help him out a bit, escaping from blood-lusting Tribes is a two-way thing damn it!

He'd managed to sneak them both out unnoticed, much to his relief, and helped the boy down the muddy slope without much trouble despite his hurt ankle. He'd tried to do as little talking as possible, which seemed to work for the most part as the boy relaxed in his peripherals, and the only other real awkward moment was when the kid had stared at him for a good minute which, Qrow could honestly say had been harrowing: Why was he looking at him like that? Was he judging him? That looked like a judgemental face. Where was he supposed to look? Did he make eye contact? At least the boy hadn't bolted like he thought he would - that at least had felt like an achievement; The Faunus boy must've found something right with him as he was looking pretty amused, and Qrow had taken the opportunity to swiftly move them along.

Reaching the wall, he saw light coming out from the flap of the main tent and decided to fly a few more laps around the perimeter of the camp, not particularly wanting to face Raven yet. As he glided along, he felt a sense of freedom he hadn't felt in a long time; That log had been a weight hanging over him.

It was no wonder he always found himself drawn to it - even before the storm he'd go down to the river and look across, imagining what was on the other side; of crossing, but never doing so. The log had been a gateway - an offering - but he'd never dared to take it. He'd been scared, he realized tonight or maybe long before that, though he'd pretended not to notice the way his heart sped up as he stood at the trunk's base time and time again. He'd felt it, standing there, the boy waiting for him, and if not for the way the kid'd lost his balance, Qrow didn't doubt he would've up and walked away. He was afraid. Afraid of crossing over to that other side - away from the camp, from Raven. But the boy led him forward and then he'd been standing on ground he'd only dreamed of. Now it was the Tribe on that other side, and the wide world before him.

He'd hopped back as quick as he could, giving the boy his weapon and some food he'd managed to save and fled, but he could feel it now: some of the weight lifting, being replaced by something lighter. Maybe he could cross that bridge now.

The light glared at him and he resigned himself to his fate, swooping down to the entrance of Raven's tent. He didn't bother hiding his presence: no one else was up besides the two siblings, and he didn't doubt Raven knew he'd gone out. Inside, Qrow was greeted by a familiar sight: Raven sat with one knee up at the low mahogany table in the middle of the room, nursing what looked to be red wine. Above her, black feathers hung from the ceiling, shamanic and very fitting of their namesakes. The Tribe wasn't particularly religious - of course, they believed in the Two Brothers, but they weren't accustomed to praying or anything like that. Despite this, people often took up little good luck charms: dream catchers to ward off negativity while they slept; The bone of whatever animal they first caught when moving to a new area, hoping for plentiful food supplies; Planting white stones along the wall to ask for a strong defence against the Grimm. Those feathers had been a tradition started by their parents, meant to be a camouflage from spirits that brought bad luck. Qrow wondered if that had been their thinking when they named him and Raven - it had certainly backfired if that was the case. He supposed living out in the wilderness away from society was bound to breed superstition; They all needed little rituals to keep sane out here, and he tried not to feel offended by the gesture.

Raven didn't look up as he walked in, grabbing a glass left on a box by the door before taking a seat across from his sister. He reached for the wine between them, but a hand caught his in a tight grip around the neck of the bottle and held him there. Qrow's eyes slid over to his sister, who still stared into her glass, and knew what was coming. The restraining grasp withdrew and pulled from beneath the table a new bottle filled with a clear liquid. Qrow grimaced, but poured himself a glass anyway and took a swig. Water. Eugh. They remained like that in silence for some time, and Qrow took the opportunity to get comfortable for the chewing out he was about to receive, mirroring Raven's pose as he leaned back on one hand and looked at the map of Remnant behind her.

It was his own ritual of sorts. He'd taken to staring at it in the tense silences between them - which had been happening all too often as of late: He didn't know if she was becoming more stressed, or if he had been stepping further out of line recently - or maybe it was a bit of both - but their midnight sessions had been terse for a while now, and it felt like something was building between the two. In those moments he liked to look at the map on the far wall and think about what those far away places might look like; Or, more often, he remembered all the places their team had gone to: the accomplishment they'd felt when completing a difficult mission, or the bars they'd gone to afterwards in celebration. He remembered the way Raven had been silent but contented then, with her teammates around her, and tried to see that same woman in her now.

Finally, Qrow felt a shift in her breathing and knew it was time. He sat up when she rested her glass back down on the table, well away from the edge so that she could place her arms there and lean forward as her eyes bore into his own.

"I suppose I should ask what you were doing out at this time of night." Her voice was soft and low, almost as if she didn't feel angry, and maybe she wasn't by her morose expression. He fought back any guilt and kept quiet.

"You go out so often these days, it's almost as if you don't want to be here." Her hand twitched, and the rhythmic _tap tap_ of her fingers on the table filled the stunted silence - a bad habit she'd picked up back in Beacon. He waited for her to say more, but she simply watched him, one hand holding up her chin. He swallowed thickly.

"You know the Tribe is my home. Where else would I go but family?"

"Family, huh?"

Looking up, she fixed her gaze on the low hanging feathers which swayed slightly. "Funny how family always manages to disappoint you." The wooden _tap tap tap_ whittled away at him as he rubbed at his wrist.

"At first I didn't mind so much: Yes, you didn't help with the supply efforts, but you always were soft, and you earned your keep by protecting our borders, even if you likely were the cause of a lot of those Grimm outbreaks," Qrow sank lower and lower into himself as she went on, and his wrist starting to redden, "But recently something's changed. You've been going out more, talking even less than you already did, unless of course, it's to criticize my leadership. You're not deaf. You hear what people say about you. You don't exactly inspire _trust_ , Qrow, and alienating yourself from our people isn't helping your case. You may not care. You may think it doesn't matter, that you can become a 'lone-wolf' and do what you want, but it _always_ comes back to me."

The bang of her fist against the table punctuated the sentence, and Qrow jolted at the shock. He straightened his back and scowled, but it felt forced even to him: Indifference was always a hard mask to put on around Raven; He felt vulnerable - exposed, and he hoped at the very least he had a similar effect on her.

"I could make excuses for you before, tell them your strength made up for your lack of participation, that you're loyalty lied with us," She stood then, back to him, and rested a hand on the cabinet beneath the map on the far wall. "But now with our Spring Maiden, it's gotten harder and harder to defend you. I've kept those whispers quiet,"

She turned a little towards him, "I did that because we're _family._ But tonight you've ruined that. You set that boy free - _Atlesian Military -_ what were you _thinking?_ " Raven rarely raised her voice when it was just the two of them, and on that account, he could feel viscerally just how pissed she was. He knew this was coming the moment he decided to help the boy escape, but it was one thing to know it and another to be on the receiving end of it.

"He works with Ironwood. He knows where we are now. What if he tracks us - finds us? Do you realize you're actions affect more than just you, or do you not care? How am I supposed to secure our peoples' loyalty when I constantly create special exceptions for you? You make me look weak. You put the Tribe's lives at risk. _Our_ lives. What happens if they find us?"

"He was just a kid." He weakly rebutted.

"A 'kid' that will lead the adults straight to us."

Her voice was low again, eerily so, and he felt the hairs of his arms raise looking at her imposing figure. "Sometimes," She sighed softly, "I really wish you weren't my brother."

He felt more than ever the distance between them: two siblings on opposite sides, and there was no log to bridge this gap. Her words cut deep, but he felt even deeper the guilt of often thinking the same thing.

The passion seemed to drain out of her, and when she turned around again her face was impassive. "We'll be preparing to move for the next two to three days. You'll be helping with packing the weapons and staying here to take down the wall when the time comes. You are not to leave the camp, and you won't be on patrol until we've settled into our new location. You'll act as the guard you were meant to be while I send out our forces to watch over the border for any movement."

She walked away again, looking back at the map, and reached for the pins lodged into the wall. It was as clear a dismissal as Qrow was going to get and he rose, more than ready to leave the apartment.

"Qrow," her voice called. He paused but didn't turn.

"Please, don't disappoint me again."

He left after that, but couldn't unhear her desperate tone.

* * *

Qrow Branwen, huh? Clover had heard many stories about the siblings, but never thought he'd be in such proximity to them, especially after all those months of dead-end after dead end trying to find the two: The General had been hell-bent on capturing the runaways until Professor Ozpin had talked him down. No one could blame the General for his concerns: The Branwens held sensitive information - too much, Ironwood had often said, for the age at which they'd been told, and Clover couldn't help but agree. It was much too big a burden to place on the shoulders of students. In the end, it was no wonder they had ran the way they did; He was certain the General understood too, but he was right: Knowledge was power, and that power in the hands of unpredictable fugitives was a dangerous thing.

For one they knew about the Maidens - not just about their existence or how they worked, but about their _identities_ (well, they knew about the Fall and Spring Maidens, Atlas and Vacuo were very secretive about those subjects, and for good reason. If even one of the Maidens were captured, the ramifications could be catastrophic). They must've been highly trusted to be privy to that information, especially by Ozpin who was renowned for his secrecy. It made him wonder what had driven them to betray the trust they'd earnt. It must've been to do with the death of their two teammates - missing officially, but they'd never been mentioned in briefings and that was all the information Clover needed.

Alongside the Maidens, they, of course, knew about the relics. They hadn't been told what each did, but even the Ace Ops only knew about the Staff of Creation, and Clover thought that was probably for the best. Of course, none of this would matter if they didn't know about Salem. If they started spouting nonsense about magic and special objects, thousands of years old and hidden beneath the 4 kingdoms, people would ask if they'd forgotten their tin hats, but a member of Salem's army? That could be the beginning of the end for humanity.

It was for that reason the General had wanted them out there, scouring Remnant for the two, but after 6 months of nothing, Ozpin had convinced him to let them be. The Professor's undying composure had thrown him at the time. Clover was sure he must've been embarrassed or at least hurt by their betrayal away from posting eyes, but whatever he felt, he was collected and rational when he told the General to drop their warrant: That they were simply afraid, and forcing them to face that responsibility would lead to more conflict than if they left them out there. With no trail to follow, Ironwood had been forced to comply, and it seemed to be effective as they'd heard no news, bad or good, about the Branwens for the past 5 years.

Clover didn't know what to think about the siblings - he hadn't really formed any opinion of them at all, if not a slightly negative view that was always necessary for capturing targets - maybe distant sympathy. But today his view of Qrow had completely changed. Clover didn't like to express it too much, but he cared deeply for his teammates: He was friendly to them of course, even when Vine and Harriet insisted they were just co-workers; He loved hanging out with his team, but he didn't like putting on display just how much they meant to him. Today was one of the rare occasions he'd shown it. He'd snapped at Marrow out of fear, anger finally bubbling up once the first wave of relief passed - the kid was just a rookie and had disappeared in foreign territory, it was only natural Clover had freaked out! He was embarrassed, but the overwhelming relief had crashed back down, drowning out any other feeling as he sat on the dirt surrounded by family. And all of this, he couldn't help thinking, was because of this Qrow.

He felt indebted to the man. Marrow was such a sweet kid, even if he tried to act a grump all the time - he wore his heart on his sleeve and Clover had always been endeared by that fact. He was grateful Marrow hadn't had to face the darkness of humanity just yet, and if the way he'd been talking about the man for over an hour now, tail enthusiastically wagging, was any indication it seemed he shared the sentiment.

"He was so cool though! With his cape flapping in the wind and everything!"

"Capes are pretty lame. Sounds like he's trying too hard."

"Harriet I will literally end you."

Smiling at their antics, he felt some regret as his thoughts shifted to the new task at hand: Finding the two and reporting back to the General. He was sure Ironwood would want to know about this new development. He felt bad about effectively throwing Qrow under the bus right after he'd helped them out, although Marrow seemed to think the man might actually prefer to be captured.

"You should've seen the way he looked when he was showing me the way back to Atlas: Like he was longing to be out there! He totally wants to leave, I mean whoever heard of a nice bandit? He's gotta be there against his will."

"He was so grumpy too, I didn't see him crack a single smile! Though he was pretty good looking underneath all that. Definitely Clover's type.

He decided to blatantly _ignore_ that last statement and carried on thinking about their next course of action.

"Marrow," He used his Captain voice to ensure their attentions were captured, "Do you think you could track the tribe?"

His teammate frowned and shook his head. "I could lead you back to the camp, but once they move I won't be able to follow them. I didn't get anything with their scent on it."

"We'll have to move fast then, I doubt they'll wait long before moving."

Elm nodded in agreement, "With how evasive the Branwens were back in the day, I'm sure they wouldn't risk staying in one place after their position was compromised."

"So," Vine spoke in that calm way of his, and Clover felt all eyes on him, "What do we do now Captain?"

He huffed a smile at their avid attention. "Well, we clearly can't wait long, however, Marrow needs to be with us if we want to find them once they've relocated, and right now he needs a good day's rest. So," He turned to look at each person as he addressed them, "Marrow, get as much rest as you can tonight, we'll be leaving around midday tomorrow; Vine, you'll be coming with us. Harriet, I need you to run to the nearest town - I remember seeing one on the way, not too far from here - and send a letter to General Ironwood saying we've come across the Branwen Tribe, and that we'll be returning a little bit later than expected to gather information. Elm, while we're all gone you'll be guarding the ship with Harriet. We're not engaging, only scouting so it shouldn't take too long: We'll meet back here tomorrow by nightfall - everyone got their orders?"

The group nodded, happy in their own ways to be getting a bit of action (except Elm who felt left out being stuck at the ship. _What a bummer_ ).

It was getting darker now, and he stood to kindle the fire between them. "All right guys, I'll start on dinner. You'd better make it speedy Har unless you want to go hungry tonight."

"Hmph. Only way I know how, Cap'."

The air left in her wake fizzed with energy, and in an instant, she was gone. As he went to light a match, Clover's thoughts circled the man on all of their minds. He wondered if Qrow looked the same in real life as he did in the wanted posters; He certainly hadn't _acted_ like a criminal, though Marrow tended to exaggerate things, and he'd already turned Qrow into some messiah-like figure. Still, he felt an odd curiosity towards the former huntsman. Maybe it was some aspect of his semblance giving him a sign, but Clover felt drawn to him - almost like Qrow's emergence had opened a churning cavity in his chest that wanted to be filled with information about the man. It urged him, inquisitive: He didn't know why - maybe because he'd been an unanswered mystery to Clover for so many years - but he wanted more: to know the person he was so inexplicably anxious to meet. _Who was Qrow Branwen?_

* * *

Getting to the camp had been much easier than Marrow'd first thought. Travelling there was always going to be simple enough, it was a three hour run in one direction - the guards were what he'd been worried about. It was only natural for them to up their security with Atlesian huntsmen roaming about, but by some amount of luck (though he wouldn't say it out loud, no need to boost his captain's ego any further), the patrollers they'd seen were few and far between, and slipping past them all had been a breeze. It was no surprise then that they quickly found a perch in a tree, close enough to the wall around the Tribe's base, with no guards in sight. Marrow began to worry: Had they left already? Then why were there still Tribe members around? His apprehension was thankfully short-lived.

"It seems your semblance is working overtime today, Captain."

Vine couldn't have said it better, and Marrow's anxieties left him as right there to their left was Qrow. There was no weapon on him as he slipped through the gate, and he looked even more worn out than the last time Marrow'd seen him - but he still looked as cool as ever! They watched as he followed the line of the wall, inspecting and occasionally scuffing a rock at it until he was directly in their line of sight.

"This might be the only chance we have to get close, and if I can just get something of his, we might have a traceable lead." He looked to his Captain, awaiting orders, and Clover seemed to mule it over for sometime before finally nodding. 

"Okay Marrow, but be careful, and don't get too close - we don't want to alert anyone inside that we're here, and we don't know how Qrow will react."

He scoffed at that, but jumped down silently and moved towards the man. Making sure to stay away from the wall, he stood within Qrow's eye line and snapped a twig beneath his boot. Instantly, Qrow's head snapped up in his direction, and just like that first time, they made eye contact across the length between them.

Wide red eyes met his and he stewed in the shock they held, watching as he hesitated before stalking over. Stood face to face, he could see more clearly the anger he'd missed there too, and maybe a little unease if the way he was fidgeting was anything to go by.

"What are you doing here?" He hissed, eyes darting around, but Qrow's venomous tone didn't put him off.

"I wanted to express my gratitude - not that I couldn't have escaped myself! But you put yourself in danger to help me out, so I _suppose_ I have to thank you." His nonchalant appearance would've been more convincing if his tail wasn't swishing behind him, but he was sure he pulled it off nonetheless.

The older man huffed in annoyance with a look that seemed to _say Are you an idiot or something?_ Though his harsh edges seemed to soften so Marrow counted it as a win.

"That's not a good enough reason to have come running back here; I don't need your thanks. What are you really here for?"

Marrows eyes trailed over the gruff man and frowned: he was weary, of him, he supposed, but also for him. He could see it in the tightness of his frame, and the way he scanned the trees for any backup Marrow might've brought (Thank God Clover and Vine were far away and good at hiding) as much as he felt the veiled concern in his anger. It felt exhausting just to think about, like he didn't know where he stood with anyone, and Marrow couldn't fathom why Qrow would stay with people that caused such uncertainty.

"Why do you stay with that Tribe? You're clearly not like them, so why not leave?"

"Don't talk like you know me. Helping you didn't mean anything, and why I stay is none of your business." He sneered down at Marrow but wavered at his relentless earnest. He let out a long-suffering sigh, "You still haven't answered my question kid. Do you realize how stupid it was to come here? Honestly, you're lucky the majority of the Tribe have left already or we wouldn't be having this friendly chat right now. As it is I'm pushing it by coming out here, but those wimps wanted to make sure their charms were still in place and couldn't be bothered to get off their asses." To consolidate what he'd said, he glanced behind him to make sure no one was watching, and Marrow felt a tad bad about causing him the trouble. "Either way," he said facing forwards, "You didn't come back here just for me. Hell, we don't even know each other's names."

"Well, I'll give you the pleasure of a proper introduction! The name's Marrow Amin: World-class huntsman, and the strongest of Atlas' Ace Ops!" He proudly proclaimed, crossing his arms and striking a pose (which he knew made him look cool, he'd practised it enough times in his room), and the ghost of, well it wasn't quite a smile but near enough, emerged on Qrow's face. It was the closest Marrow'd come to seeing a positive emotion from the man, and he revelled in it for a short, blissful moment, before promptly shoving his foot in his mouth.

"And you're Qrow Branwen! A legend among huntsman-"

As soon as he'd let the name slip he knew he'd gone and done it; Qrow shut him out instantly, hand twitching to his side as if to reach for a weapon, and his body language closed off completely.

"How do you know my name?"

"Ah.."

 _Crap_ , how to fix this? It was going so well! Oh Gosh, he was sweating. But Qrow was already turning to leave.

"You should go. Don't come back here, and _don't_ come looking for me."

"Wait -!"

Qrow was quick, and all Marrow could do was reach out and grab onto his cape, but the fabric ripped and then he was gone.

 _Phew! That was too close._ He gripped the fabric tightly and pretended like hadn't totally fluked that; He'd admit to no one he'd forgotten his task until the last second. Thank God he'd been able to grab on or they'd have nothing to track the Branwens with, but he'd been banking on getting a bit of the man's cape anyway so it had basically gone according to plan. 

He was suddenly aware of how long he'd been standing there alone, out in the open, and jumped back to his teammates, who'd been watching from afar.

"Good job Marrow!"

"It was a hint too close for comfort I'd say."

Marrow decided to only hear his Captain's praise. "Did he mention anything useful?"

"He mentioned that most of his Tribe had left already, though it seems like there's still a few people inside. He didn't say too much - I don't think he was supposed to be outside." 

Clover nodded thoughtfully, "Well, that explains the lack of guards I guess, though I'm surprised they left people behind. I'm surprised that they left so quickly in general, they couldn't have taken all their supplies in that time."

"I seem to remember Raven's profile stating she had a teleportation semblance of some kind," Vine interjected, "Perhaps she intends to transport the remaining people and supplies by these means."

Marrow hit his palm with his fist in agreement. "Yeah, she used portals when we fought last time too. That must be it!"

"Which means Raven most likely left with the rest of her Tribe to open the portal to their new location. Assuming this is true, Qrow and Raven will be separated until a new settlement is found." Clover held his chin in thought for a moment, before nodding finally. He looked at the two of them. "Alright, good job guys, I think that's all we need for now. Let's head back before it gets dark - we need to move quickly if we don't want to waste this opportunity. Who knows how long we have before the Branwens regroup."

With their mission complete, they hopped down and ran back the way they came, coming across even fewer lookouts than before. Marrow reached into his pocket once they were a good distance away and pulled out the ripped fabric, examining it in his hands as he ran. It seemed worn and dirty - well-loved might be a better way to put it - but the material seemed like good quality for how long it had lasted. It was somewhere between silk and cotton, and Marrow understood why Qrow would want to wear it all the time despite its impracticality in battle: He imagined it must've been comforting to be surrounded by something so soft all the time. Crimson, Marrow thought, was a fitting colour for Qrow, and the dual white tone was a nice touch he hadn't noticed before.

Thinking back to his encounter with Qrow, he pouted at the way things had ended. They'd almost hit it off before he'd gone and opened his big mouth! _Obviously_ mentioning Qrow's name was going to ring alarm bells, you doofus! Honestly, he was surprised at how open Qrow had been at all - he imagined the man would be more suspicious of a huntsman, especially a supposed enemy that returned after being freed. That seemed very sketchy even to him, which only added credence to his theory that Qrow didn't really want to be there - and he was right, why else would Qrow entertain a conversation with him, or help him in the first place? No, he didn't like it there, but something was holding him back. Loyalty to his sister maybe? She certainly wasn't as kind (he shivered at the memory of her sadistic smile while she beat him to the ground), but Marrow could understand wanting to stick with family. Family was safe, even, perhaps, when they were homicidal mad women. He couldn't speculate further though, as a horde of Grimm chose that moment to spring out of the shrubbery around them, and he smirked as he reached for Fetch. Finally, something to take his mind off his recent failures. This, he could deal with. 

* * *

Clover reeled in Kingfisher with a flick of his wrist as the last remnants of Grimm dissipated. Beside him, Marrow caught Fetch as it rebounded from its final target, and Vine retracted his extendable arms so that they all could take off in a sprint once again. There weren't too many Grimm around these parts it seemed, and the ones they'd fought were simple Beowolf: Nothing to be nervous about; It was quite peaceful actually. It was getting darker, though yet to be nightfall, and by his estimation, they were less than an hour away from their make-shift camp. He couldn't wait to get back to Atlas and finally sleep in his own bed after 3 weeks of hard floors and sleeping bags, even if he knew it wouldn't be long before he was back to this dreary lifestyle. His thoughts drifted again to the person who'd be keeping him here.

Qrow had been both familiar and foreign. After memorizing the man's file, it wasn't hard to recognize his general brusque manner, although seeing him in person unfolded some unknown aspects of the man that had him captivated. Clover had eyed the lithe frame, rugged face, and dark, dishevelled hair that hid surprisingly warm eyes, and then kept looking. Alright. Maybe Marrow hadn't been totally off base earlier, but he definitely wasn't attracted to Qrow - he couldn't be, it was unprofessional. Stress oozed from the man as he stalked over to Marrow: Shoulders high and tight, with a scowl etched onto his face. He was antsy, Clover could tell - and angry because of it, though Marrow's enthusiasm didn't dim. Perhaps to those who didn't know the boy very well, they'd think him oblivious, but Clover wagered it was because rather than in spite of Qrow's distress that he appeared so cheerful. They were too far away to hear what the pair were saying, but expressions were easy enough to read, and he had a perfect view of the target. He noticed the way Qrow held himself so that Marrow would be shielded from view of any onlookers from the camp, and felt his chest swell strangely as the man's actions betrayed what his rough exterior tried so hard to hide. That moment, he would think later, was the first time he'd truly taken an interest in Qrow - a Bandit; a Runaway; In terms of the law, his enemy. But as the man's face softened, Clover found he was no longer looking at a wanted poster. That was the real Qrow - or an insight into him: younger, lighter, kinder - and as irrational as it was he had felt his heart rate pick up at the upward twitch of the man's lips. 

The spell was broken as his teammate miss-stepped in their conversation, and just as quickly as he had opened, Qrow threw up his guard, and then his face was easier to recognize. Worried, he'd wondered whether Marrow had somehow nabbed something off the man, or if they'd need to find some other means of tracking the Tribe, but right at the last second through dumb luck (it wasn't dumb) the boy managed to grab a fistful of the man's cape - which was an impressive piece of clothing for any huntsman to wear, either for its sheer stupidity or for the immense skill the wearer had to have for the cape to not be a hindrance in battle; If Clover had to guess, it would be the latter in this case. From the way Marrow giggled awkwardly to himself, clutching the torn cloth, before regrouping, it was safe to assume he had forgotten about his task right until the end. Clover pretended he hadn't noticed.

He'd entertained the boy's wild theories about how the man was being kept against his will like some damsel in distress - though a 'badass' one, he made sure to emphasize that - and honestly Clover was a little glad for the reprieve he'd gained from the Grimm attack. It still astounded Clover how fast Marrow could grow obsessed with people: It reminded him of those early months when he'd idolized the other Ace Ops - before, that is, Marrow'd gotten to realize what little shits they were, pardon his language. He didn't miss those awkward days, even if he'd found the boy's admiration charming; He'd grown much fonder of the playfully arrogant nerd he was today. Clover knew Marrow's puppy-like nature was due to him being a Faunus, though more of a reflection of his bad treatment than any animalistic trait. It was no secret Atlas wasn't kind to those who were different, and Marrow hadn't had the best experiences because of it, even in the academy, which had disgusted Clover. It was no wonder then, that he attached himself so firmly to anyone who showed him an ounce of kindness, and he felt again a strong inclination toward Qrow, who was so far removed from anyone he'd met in Atlas. He dismissed Marrow's theories: He didn't think Qrow was there against his will or anything as straightforward as that, but he didn't think the man belonged there either. Marrow was right about one thing: he was far kinder than any other bandit they'd apprehended; Qrow Branwen was a 5-year long enigma, and one that Clover felt compelled to solve. The trees around him looked brighter somehow, and he found himself running just a bit faster. Anima didn't appear so trite now; Maybe there'd be something of interest here after all. If nothing else, at least his target was easy on the eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading all the way to the end, I appreciate it a lot! It was pretty dang long for my standards and a lot of it was set up so I hope you liked it and it wasn't too boring,,,


End file.
